Demons
by CaptainMihnea
Summary: Brief one-shot look at Jane's potential PTSD. Rizzles. Warning: sort of character death, but not really, so don't panic. Written for the rizzlesfanficchallenge.


**A/N: This is a one-shot for the rizzlesfanficchallenge on tumblr, which I just couldn't stop myself from writing. I'm still working on Exit Wounds, but I've been doing 11 hour shifts at work lately, so I'm struggling to find the time. Promise I'll update it in a couple of days though!**

"Jane," he murmurs. "Jane. Come closer. I have more bad things to tell you."

It's happening again. And Jane can't do anything to stop it. She's powerless. Hopeless.

Always the same. Always the same since that day. The prison infirmary. The guard.

Hoyt.

_Maura._

Jane watches _him_ go to her. She struggles, but her limbs don't work. He's done something to her. Something bad. Hoyt's speaking to Maura now. Taunting her. Taunting them both. Jane tries to fight. Nothing works.

The scalpel catches the whiteness of the lighting. It flashes in his hand. Jane can see the blade's silhouette ripple over the material of Maura's jacket, until it hovers at the side of her neck. The tip is so close to where she can see the doctor's pulse race under her smooth skin.

_Stop. Please. Not her._

Jane isn't sure if she says the words out loud, or if they merely reverberate in her head. She isn't sure of anything anymore.

Hoyt turns to her with that smile. That smile she's been seeing in her nightmares for years. He's got a scar above his upper lip, as though he'd once been picking his teeth with that damned scalpel of his and slipped slightly.

How she'd love to watch him bleed. How she'd love to see the life dim from his eyes. How she'd love to make _him _beg this time. She's sick of being his victim. Sick of what he does to her. Her hands ache – those wounds he gave her never truly healed. She can feel them opening, piercing through her palms – the blood starts to flow, coming down her wrists.

"I win, Jane." Hoyt tells her.

He has Maura by the throat.

_No._

Jane screams.

Lunges for the guard. Catches him. She hears his nose crunch as her forehead impacts his face. She sees his right shoulder drop as he brings his fist back to punch her. She ducks. Kicks out. Her knee hits him in the groin and he yells out. It buys her the time to seize the taser and shock him. He collapses.

She whirls to face Hoyt. She's ready – so very ready to kill this bastard. To finally see him dead. She's so ready. She's―

Hoyt has Maura in his grasp. He's holding her tight against his body, her arm twisted behind her. The scalpel is pressed to her throat. A bead of blood pearls at the tip of the cold steel.

Jane wasn't ready for that.

Maura meets her eyes. There's so much pain there. So much love.

"Happy birthday, Jane." Hoyt says.

He sweeps the blade across that expanse of soft flesh.

Liquid sprays across her face. The blood is greasy. He's sliced clean through, and sent crimson sluicing free. Jane feels it on her eyelids, on her throat. It's soaking into her clothes, into her skin. The wound gapes.

Suddenly the floor is hard against her knees. Jane has fallen. She doesn't remember falling. All she can think is that this is her fault. _Maura. _The body drops. Crumples.

She's gone. _Maura's gone._

Her howl of agony and denial follows her as she jolts awake. She can feel a hoarseness irritating her vocal chords from where the sheer force of the sound ripped through them. Her hands fly to her face, making sure there's no blood there.

_It's okay, _she tries to tell herself. _It's okay. _

It's a lie, really. Jane Rizzoli is not okay by any stretch of the imagination. Not even a little bit. She can feel her heart slamming desperately against the walls of her chest. She struggles to regain her breath, and to calm her racing pulse. It's an impossible task. Images from the dream keep flashing across her mind – like she's rewatching the whole thing in the light of a strobe.

She swears and heaves her shaking body from her bed. A nervous energy takes hold of her and pushes her to pace the room. She isn't sure how long she moves back and forth, but eventually she finds herself able to breathe again. Even so, the tremor won't leave her hands. She has to flex them over and over to make sure they aren't really bleeding. She knows the wounds are completely healed, but the dream was just so vivid. Her shoulders tense violently as she battles to find some kind of steadiness.

But she knows she won't find it. The only way she can truly calm down is if she can reassure her mind that it really was only a dream. And the only thing that can achieve that is Maura.

Jane snatches up her phone. As soon as she unlocks the screen, it opens on hers and Maura's text conversation. The last text is from around 11pm – Maura wishing her goodnight. The goodnight text became a tradition of theirs remarkably early on in their association. Jane now finds it hard to sleep if she doesn't receive one. Not that this one helped her sleep tonight.

'_Are you awake?' _she sends.It's a stupid question. Of course Maura is asleep – it's 4am. But Jane also knows that the doctor is a light enough sleeper that the mere vibration of the phone will wake her. The detective feels bad, but she can't stop herself. The phrase has almost become code over the past few years – both women are used to receiving the question from one another at strange hours. It's their way of chasing away those demons that come in the night, those thoughts that can't be banished by individual force of will.

'_Yes. Come over.' _The response is brusque. It always is. Maura isn't one to waste time texting, especially not when she's mostly asleep.

Jane forces her feet into some grey sweatpants, and pulls a dark hoodie over her pyjama tank top. She zips it up to mid-chest and pulls up the hood. The drab hues of her clothes seem muted somehow. She can still see so much blood. Nothing else has any colour. She steps through this strange monochromatic world, pausing to slip on some flip flops as she makes her way downstairs and out to where her car is parked.

Her gun is in her hand – unholstered. Her thumb hovers over the safety catch, ready to remove it. She didn't make a conscious decision to pick up the weapon, but she finds its familiar weight and lethality bring her some small measure of solace. It remains in her hand until she needs both hands to put her car in gear. Even after that, it stays within easy reach on the passenger seat the whole journey. Once she pulls up at the destination, she slips the gun into the capacious pocket of sweat pants.

Jane lets herself into Maura's house. Sometimes, it's enough to simply walk through the front door – the smell of Maura's home is comforting in itself. On those nights, she doesn't need to disturb Maura; she just wraps herself in a blanket and sleeps on the sofa.

Tonight, though, she needs more. She needs contact. Until she sees for certain that her dream was nothing but exactly that, she knows she won't be able to find any kind of serenity. There's no way she can get those images out of her head without being able to lay a hand on one side of Maura's face and feel the warmth of her skin.

Her feet pad softly on the thick carpet as she heads to Maura's bedroom. She doesn't bother to turn any lights on – she knows this house so well she could find her way around it in pitch black. With care, she twists the handle of the doctor's door and quietly slips inside. There's the sound of material sliding against material and skin as Maura slowly stirs.

"Jane?" she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.

"It's me. Mind if I stay here?"

Maura twitches back the sheets by way of a response. The move opens up a space for Jane to climb into the bed, and exposes her friend's olive silk night dress. One of the thin straps has fallen down and now lies across Maura's bicep. Jane climbs into bed, and she places a kiss on that bare shoulder, and hears the other woman's lips move in a smile. Jane's lips linger perhaps a little too long on that wonderfully soft skin, but she knows that Maura won't remember in the morning. The doctor isn't awake enough to register it. Jane is safe.

As Jane pulls the covers over herself and struggles into a comfortable position, Maura shifts closer, until she can feel the warmth of her skin beneath glossy silk. Face to face now, Maura's breath tickles her cheek. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room, and she can make out the doctor's peaceful features. When Jane looks at her, all the songs make sense. It's like coming home, and for the first time since she awoke, she can feel herself relaxing.

She wonders what it would be like to do this openly every night. What it would be like to share a bed as lovers, rather than as friends. What it would be like to be able to kiss Maura goodnight and kiss her awake in the morning. What it would be like to fall asleep in her arms. Jane's never told her how she feels, but she thinks Maura knows. The doctor might even feel something similar; sometimes Jane could swear she sees more than friendly affection in those hazel eyes. Maybe one day she'll be bold enough to find out.

But for now...

For now, this nearness is enough. It's what she so desperately needed. Jane lets out a soft sigh and closes her eyes.


End file.
